


Flash Fire

by SompnolentPoppy



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Grief, How not to cope with a rogue umpire incinirating your friend, Post-Landry's Death, how to win a championship in spite of crippling grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26704669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SompnolentPoppy/pseuds/SompnolentPoppy
Summary: The moments between when Landry Violence caught fire and the Hades Tigers became the Season 3 ILB Champions.
Kudos: 7





	Flash Fire

It happens in the blink of an eye. Hiroto is in the dugout, but she sees the ump move. A blur of void black in her peripheral. And then she turns and sees who it pointed at. 

Landry. 

Always ablaze, but now the fire covers him. Even from a distance it feels blistering hot and destructive. She watches numbly as Landry drops to the ground. 

It is not Landry who rises. 

Instead there’s just some dryad, her hair pulled back and eyes wide, who stares at the jacket that fell from her back. Landry’s jacket. But without the presence it always had. 

Because Landry Violence is gone. Incinerated. In some stupid playoff match with the Millennials.

It feels like a joke.

It must be a joke.

They win the match. 

She meets her new teammate. 

The dryad, former host to Violence, cradles his jacket in her arms as she steps onto the team’s bus.

There’s a part of Hiroto that wants to scream at her. What entitles this stranger to the same grief the rest of the team is crippled by. Why should she be allowed to gently hold the jacket in against herself as if it will somehow feel like his presence. 

Hiroto’s hands are bleeding. Too sharp nails have left bloody crescents in her palms. 

In the front of the bus Moody, seeming somehow smaller than usual, is comforting Jess. Dunlap is uncharacteristically quiet, staring out the window without any of his usual passion. Fish and Randy are just leaning against each other in the backseat. Behind her Yazmin shakes. She thinks of her gentle teammate, the underdog pitcher, and the toll this loss will place on her.

She reigns herself in. Presses her tongue hard against the back of her teeth, thinks of what to do next. 

Hiroto is the ace of the Hades Tigers. She is always the most composed, the most held-together of her teammates. She will not stop that legacy here. There are things to be done, teammates to look after, processes to grieving. In her head she makes plans, a memorial. Something fitting for what felt like the soul of the team. She eyes the jacket in the drya- Paula’s arms. 

She wants him to last. Beyond this game, beyond the players in this team, beyond all his hosts and the traces of himself he left them with.

There in the bus she puts aside her grief for another day. She needs to get to work. It starts with the people in charge, she types up an email to their General Manager, Fearful might be intimidating but even she liked Landry Violence. 

She puts all her energy in what she needs to do to make this happen. She pulls up a map of the stadium, thinks of where would be best. Keep it respectful, not out of the way, but not a show of blatant media optics. They’ll need a frame for what she’s planning. 

She’ll have to speak to her teammates, make sure they’re okay with it. 

Make sure they’re okay. 

Hiroto lists her teammates in her head, thinks of who will need support the most. Who has family or loved ones living with them, who will be going to their apartment alone with this weight. She prioritizes, sends a gentle invite to a few to sleepover with her tonight promises dinner and quiet company. Assures them that they don’t have to come if they want to be alone, but that her door will be open.

She thinks of which restaurants will deliver food tonight, what allergies and preferences her teammates have, plans ahead to order dinner for anyone who can’t handle another meaningless task tonight. 

At the end of her list is a name she can no longer help, followed by one she isn’t sure she wants to. But, Hiroto is a teamplayer, she always has been. She buries that resentment, the bitter tang of envy, and thinks of their newest player.

Paula Turnip.

She forces herself to turn to the dryad, she’s been facing away from her the whole time. It was purposeful in a way she’s ashamed to admit.

“Do you live in Hades?” Hiroto’s taken aback by her own voice, gentled and horse it feels unfamiliar.

Paula seems startled by the question, “I have a place.”

“Okay, cool, cool. You gonna be okay tonight? I’m letting folks sleep over with me, you’re welcome to join. Also, do you have allergies? Dietary preferences? I can also order food for you if you don’t want to deal with that tonight.” 

Hiroto’s moving too fast now, but it feels like if she stops something bad will happen.

“Yes, uhm to the coming over bit. I think I’d like that,” She’s hesitant, but her voice is warm and she’s smiling softly. “I don’t have any big allergies that I know of? And I like sweet stuff?”

“Right, okay, I’ll add you to the list.” 

———————

It’s not all of them that come over, the ones with families or partners mostly stay home. Yazmin, Paula, Ren and Fish are all working on blowing up the spare air-mattresses. Moody had declined the invite to check up on Jess. 

Hiroto makes a curry. It’s a comfort food for most of them, one she likes to bring to team potlucks when it’s cold out. It’s also complicated. Easy to lose herself in. 

She has to time everything perfectly for it all to be warm. She has to start with the roux, it burns easily so she has little time to do anything but stir, and gather the carrots, and stir and grab the potatoes, and stir and peel an onion, stir and add the spices.

She listens to the others talk as she chops up vegetables. Blots her mind with worry for them, worry for the low uneasy rumble coming from Ren, worry for the way Fish keeps coming into the kitchen just to look at her, worry for the way Yazmin hasn’t met anyones eyes.

Worry for Paula.

The dryad is sitting, too perfect, too still, in an unfamiliar chair. She’d removed her shoes upon entering, toeing them gently in line with everyone else's. Moved quietly to take an open chair and looked up only to take the glass of apple juice Hiroto had offered her when she first sat down. The only sweet thing in Hiroto’s fridge.

She was motionless amongst the unfamiliar. The part of Hiroto that didn’t rage at the smoke and ash pitied her. 

Intellectually, she knew the bond that Landry’s hosts shared with him, but the part of her that gripped his hand tight in the dugout before he picked up his bat, the part that saw scarlet branching light and grinned, that part didn’t understand. 

But, she needed to add the dashi stock, turn on the rice cooker. She needed to do anything but indulge the part of her that wanted to scream. 

So she beat eggs. Breaded the pork cutlet. Added the roux to her saucepan.

They don’t sit close, legs on each other's laps, laughing and shouting over each other. They can’t. Instead, she takes each person a plate herself, leaves the tv on, and sits next to Ren. Her spare hand resting in the fur of his shoulder. Present.

There’s still more to be done though. She has space for thought so she uses it. Thinks back to every one of Landry’s hosts she can remember. They’ll know already, how could they not, but she should still reach out, bring them in for her project. 

If she can get their contact information she should give it to Paula. None of the team will be able to talk to her about Landry the way they will.

She’s sat on the couch next to Ren sending messages, coordinating with the main office. Thinks about Landry’s locker in the dressing room, empty but for a few mementos the team had placed inside as jokes and memories.

Landry didn’t own much. She should figure out where the few things he did went. Anything impersonal would probably need to be donated, the team might want some things as keepsakes. Did his contract stipulate his wishes in the event of an incineration?

Hiroto’s did. 

She’d thought too hard about it when first signing onto the team, worried about it for a while, barely thought about it in the last year. They’d felt invincible this season, one of three teams never to have a player incinerated. Surely the flames of Hades gave them some immunity. Hadn’t they all bathed in the Styx? Floated amongst the lost souls as they laughed and played? Surely the ump would never point its crooked pale finger at them.

She watches Yazmin and Paula sit together and speak quietly. It’s past midnight now. 

Ren twitches restlessly in his sleep, air mattress abandoned as he curls in against Hiroto on the couch.

Hiroto stays busy.  


——————

The next two matches are a blur of planning and silent, tense training. The crowd and the team themselves find a rallying cry.

“For Violence!” is shouted from bleachers, mouthed as players step up to bat, murmured into the quiet night as hiroto forces herself to wake up. 

“For Violence!” whispers Randy gripping Fish’s hand as he steps up to bat, yells Yaz as she takes the mound, screams Paula when she hits a run.

“For Violence!” It’s there, a sustained note in the back of Hiroto’s mind as she walks into the stadium for game five. 

She can’t smile as she usually does at kids half-leaning out of the stands to see them come out of the tunnel. Barely looks at the Millennials players as she walks to the dugout, hand on the ball, fingers tracing red stitches. 

The match is a blur. Bottom of the first inning Dominic Marijuana manages to steal home and it’s 1-0. Thats a miss on her watch. She has to be better than this. 

It’s tense for the next few innings, strikeouts and flyouts, and defensive maneuvers. 

In the top of the forth Paula and then Jess cross home in quick succession. ‘For Violence’ is echoed in the dugout with firm grips of hands and strained smiles. But their lips turn down as Hiroto gives up two runs the next inning.

She’s letting them down. She’s their ace, and she’s letting them down, letting Landry down. What good is an ace who can’t win this match, this single important match. Between pitching she grits her teeth and blinks back tears in the dugout, on the mound she holds steady for two more innings.

Peanutiel is on first, there’s no expectation from the crowd right now. This isn’t the high point of their lineup. But Moody steps up to bat, pages flipping sharply as a breeze cuts through the stadium. 

Ball one. 

Ball two. 

Ball three. 

He might draw a walk here, an easy set up they can maybe hope to slowly push around the diamond.

He hits it out of the park. They're in the lead again. Their good dependable captain has pulled through where Hiroto slipped. It’s good, they have a chance. She just has to hold on.

Two more before that inning finishes, it’s good there’s less pressure on her. More space in case she fucks up again.

Which she does.

The Millennials get one more run out of her right after all the work her teammates did to push ahead. 

She’s managing.

Bottom of the eighth.

Flyout.

Flyout.

Groundout.

She’s depending on her team to field, even though that’s never been their strong suit. If only she was faster, pitched harder, made better calls.

Bottom of the ninth.

It’s all on her.

She lets McLaughlin get a single on a too slow fastball.

She’s tiring.

Another bad throw sends the ball to infield, and McLaughlin is out but Vaughn is on base.

The same again only with Thomas Draceana. She has to hold it together.

She hold ups her index finger for her defence to see. 

One out. 

She can do this.

She throws a strike. 

She throws a.... It’s too slow, Bendie will hit it. 

He does, and she watches in what feels like slow motion as the ball rolls into the infield.

Straight up to Zion.

Straight into Zion’s glove.

It’s a ground out.

Hiroto screams. It’s raw and visceral. They’ve done it, they won.

The team swarms the mound, and it’s a tangle of the salty taste of sweat and flesh and warmth. Hiroto stops holding herself up. 

Let’s the team take her weight.

Let’s go.

**Author's Note:**

> Special shout-out to the folks at SIBR who made my work much easier by providing past game logs. Also to the twitter accounts, artists, and creators who made me fall in love with the tigers. Being part of Season 3 Tigers was an untouchable moment in time. Never Look Back.


End file.
